The Diary
by Elynne Dracolemur
Summary: Very brief scene, in which Snape deals with a schoolgirl's crush.


Naomi's knees trembled uncontrollably as she walked slowly down the dank dungeon hall. She trailed her fingers along the wall, tracing her passage, until she reached the door to Professor Snape's study. Swallowing hard, she raised her hand to knock.  
  
"Come in," a voice echoed across the hallway. With a small gasp and start, Naomi hesitantly pushed the door open.  
  
The room was dark, long, and cluttered. Tall, sturdy shelves seemed to loom from the walls, stacked high with books, folders, boxes, jars, and assorted miscellaneous items. Several large objects were strewn across the floor cobbles: a huge model of what looked like the solar system, but with many more objects, ticked and spun quietly in a subtle swirl of copper and dark wood; an easel supported a large covered canvas, which could be heard growling quietly beneath its black drapes; a smooth marble pedestal supported a set of three daggers which hung suspended in midair, the flickering torchlight sparkling from the matching emeralds in their hilts. As she advanced across the room, Naomi caught occasional glimpses of movement in the shelves and piles, but only once did she spy a living thing - a large spider, much larger than a tarantula, tethered by a silver string around one leg, which waved its forelegs and chirped at her like a bird as she passed.  
  
Snape's desk was set at the far end, next to a huge stone fireplace. The fire and a cluster of candles on his desk provided most of the illumination in the back half of the room. His shadowy form was bent over a book, and the scratching noise of his quill over parchment whispered quietly. He didn't look up as Naomi approached.  
  
"Sit," he said, pointing at a chair in front of his desk with his quill. Naomi swallowed again and sat. She was happier to be sitting down, since there was less chance that her shaking legs would betray her and let her fall to the floor. Still, her head was full of buzzing, and it seemed impossible to catch her breath. While she tried to calm her nerves, she let her gaze wander over the desk, idly identifying objects, until a small book caught her attention. She blinked and gasped; it was her diary.   
  
And it was unlocked.  
  
Just then, Professor Snape put down his quill and raised his head to look at her. "Naomi Whitterling," he said. "In Ravenclaw. Sixth year; distinguished academics, to be expected of a Ravenclaw, of course. Especially proficient in Transfiguration, and also one of my best Potions students."  
  
Naomi was completely unable to control the blush she felt rising on her face. She wondered how red she looked, how much he had read, what he would say...  
  
Snape sighed. "One of my best students, and very good at hiding your emotions, but not quite good enough. I've seen the signs before, and I see them again. Once I'd spotted it, it wasn't difficult to find out about your diary. Only your roommates knew that you had one, and even they didn't know the password to transform the rock in the wall you'd hidden it behind - though of course, even a very good sixth year charm isn't up to the close inspection of a professor."  
  
He picked up the book and held it loosely in his hand, looking at it with what seemed an air of sadness. Naomi held her breath. He smiled faintly, and glanced at her. "Thank you," he said, with a small nod. "It's entirely inappropriate, of course, we can't have this sort of thing happening, but still... it's nice to know that... well."  
  
As Naomi began breathing again, Snape put down the book, then reached for a decanter and two cups. He poured some juice in both goblets, and passed one to her. Naomi took the goblet, nodding her head in place of saying thanks, which would have been impossible past the constriction in her throat. She took a small swallow of the juice, trying to get her voice back. It was sweet, a bit sour, with an interesting tang.  
  
Meanwhile, Professor Snape was staring absently at something past her, over her head. "I had a crush on a professor myself, when I was in school here," he mused quietly. "She was the Dark Arts instructor for a while. She was beautiful - dark, mysterious, sninister... the other students disliked her, thinking she was too strict and cold, but I adored her. She found out, of course, much as I discovered your affection for myself. She called me into her study, and... put things right."  
  
Naomi had continued to drink as Snape spoke. Her brow lowered a bit in a small frown; she began to think that he should get to the point, as she had just realized that his voice was somewhat irritating.  
  
"I've spoken with the head of Ravenclaw, and we agreed that similar measures needed to be taken in your case," Snape continued. "However, given my particular specialty, a potion seemed in order. Something the opposite of a love philter, combined with a memory-scrambler. It should have already started taking effect... yes, I can see that it has," he said, glancing at her scowl. "It instills deep feelings of dislike and revulsion in the first person that one sees after drinking it, as well as rewriting one's memories so that one can never remember having felt otherwise. I've already taken care of the incriminating passages in this." He shook his head, looking a bit sad, as he picked up her diary. Naomi's eyes widened; she had forgotten that Snape had it, and was now very suspicious of what he'd do with it. But all he did was glance through some blank pages, before closing and latching the book, and handing it back to her.   
  
"You're excused," Snape said, his face suddenly stern. Naomi jumped a bit, hastily setting the empty goblet back on his desk. "And don't let me catch you passing notes in my class again, or you'll get double detention."  
  
As he watched the girl hurry out of his study, Snape's face softened into sadness once again. "Completely inappropriate, of course. And dangerous. I'm not safe for anybody to care about... particularly not a sixth year student who doesn't know what she's getting into." His voice trailed off as he stared blindly into the fire. A few minutes later, he shook his head and returned to writing. The sound of his quill scratching on parchment echoed through the otherwise quiet and deserted room. 


End file.
